“It was largely non-violent, but police did have to break it up.”--Joe Holden, WBRE News
It‘s been a tough slog of late, but I got me a whole 9 days off. I’m not looking to vacation as much as I am looking to lay somewhat low for a while. I’ve got a few bikebouts on the planner. I’ve got the RiverFest trip come Saturday. I’m taking the Tennessee Two, Gage and Taylor, to Movies 14. Oh, and I really, really want to visit Corba’s Keg King down the road a ways.
I woke up at the crack of dawn yesterday, and I sat here watching WBRE’s Police Break Up Scranton Immigration Rally over and over and over again. And I giggled every time.
Ever since that ugly shouting incident happened at the pro-Barletta rally in Hazleton, practically everyone entrusted with a microphone at WILK has been pointing to that incident as proof that those of us that want illegal immigration choked back are hateful, and bigots and un-American and such. Yep, we’re evil-doers, and prone to attacking anyone that doesn’t look like us, to hear the talk jocks spin the tale.
And they also pointed to that unfortunate incident as proof of their clairvoyance, saying that they feared, er, they knew something like this was going to happen. As if 20/20 hindsight is tantamount to possessing a superior intellect.
Needles to say, you know damn well that the all-inclusive talk jocks were just praying that the rally in Scranton would provide yet another ugly incident by which the talk show hosts could then repeat their diatribe about hate, bigotry and suchlike all over again. Excitedly, they mentioned that real-life “hate groups” were scheduled to be on hand. You know, skinheads, klansmen, freaks, geeks and what have you. And these vermin are the heavy hitters not afraid to use the N-word wherever they go. Oh goody.
Kevin Lynn could hardly contain his excitement, probably picturing some Mexican-looking gramma-type being pummeled and kicked and spat upon by a babushka-wearing crowd of those hateful hicks from Northeastern Pennsylvania. Maybe a shank made from a bingo marker could be inserted right next to somebody’s clavicle. Instead of a stoning, how about sticking with our heritage and coaling them to death.? That’d teach them, since they look so different from us.
Steve “I am a Mexican” Corbett mentioned the possibility that more violence could erupt, and openly mocked the rally organizer’s efforts by predicting that nobody would show up. Kevin’s new morning sidekick, Kathy something or other, babbled on and on about us, being the hateful bigots that we all obviously are. Ah, the aging hippie generation. They know everything, yet, they’ve fu>ked up practically every segment of our society with their rampant drug use, their free love and their socialism for all. Ever ask yourself what’s wrong with this country? Yeah, well you need go back no further than the 60s, when the seeds of societal decay were planted.
But a funny thing happened at Courthouse Square in Scranton. Yes, there was another ugly incident. And, yes, the cops had to get between a sprinkling of overzealous people considering an impromptu bare-knuckled donnybrook. But things did not work out as the hopeful radio talk jocks had prayed for. Nope. Instead of the “bigots” shouting at people who did not deserve to be shouted at, as had happened in Hazleton, this time the “all-inclusive” folks got right in people’s faces and just about started a fist-dominated fracas. And with that, a collective Dammit! suddenly came over those who spit on the zircon-encrusted microphones of Entercom.
Turns out, if you dare disagree with the “all-inclusive” crowd, they just might beat the snot out of you. If they judge you, if they determine that you are even scantily-clad in a bigot’s clothing, you are then subject to their self-styled version of street justice. Boy, did this one backfire on the White Flight know-it-alls at WILK, or what?
Maybe the folks that ran away to the suburbs ought to stick to something they actually know about. You know, chipmunks, leaf blowers, lawn darts and snowmobiles. Typical. They can’t stand to live anywhere near the folks they so willingly and gleefully admonish us for complaining about. Need an expert on race relations? Where better to look than Harveys Lake, Beaumont or Elk Mountain? Need some expert advice on reverse-gentrification and how 40 people living in a 7-room half a double accelerates it, look to the masters of societal evolution from Harveys Lake, Beaumont or Elk Mountain. Need to know how to get a handle on this climate change catastrophe? Then consult with those with the longest commutes, the most cars per household, the central air, the pleasure boats and the in-ground pools. Dealing with those dreaded minorities got you down? Well, talk to the experts who look down of the rest of us from their lilly-white pastures carved out of the precious forests.
And be warned. You cannot argue with them, because, they lived abroad. Yep, Kevin once lived in Saudi Arabia, so he’s vastly more knowledgeable that any of us ignorant hayseeds. And Steve…Steve lived in California for five years. And he pretends to have countless millions of illegal aliens as his close personal friends. So you dare not argue with him. And Kathy, oh, I suppose she saw a black guy when she was a fifth-grader, so she knows what she’s going on and on about. Experts all.
Funny, though. I once lived amongst rocket scientists in Florida, but that doesn’t seem to count for much. No, and neither does living with the bears up in northern Maine. Neither does my stint in Binghamton. And neither does living 2 blocks from Liberty Street, the war-torn DMZ between white America and black America in Ansonia, Connecticut during those turbulent 60s.
A place where traveling in numbers was necessary just to get home from school in one piece. A place where fistfights broke out just because your skin color wasn’t the same as theirs. A place where firemen hosed rioting blacks, and the police collected what remained afterwards. A place where getting shot at with zip guns was the ‘norm. A place where I first encountered the necessity to arm one’s self. A place I bare many scars from. No, no life lessons learned there. I guess I should have gone to Holland and experimented with the illicit drugs, the legal prostitutes and the same-sex society run amok. Now that’s seasoning, man. Nude beach? Nope, I ain’t never done that. So I can’t hold an intellectual candle to this bunch.
They live in the ferns, the sticks, and they know what’s best for my less than gentrified neighborhood. In their semi-gated communities, diversity is nowhere to be found. Oh, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I shouldn’t be willing to live right next to God only knows who, fresh from jumping the porous border. What? They piss on the tree lawns? Why, why…you freaking bigot! You’ve seen the roofer guy up the street pay them with cash? So? So what? Bigot! They have drivers license, but can’t speak English? What’s your point, you bigot? Nobody really knows what yield means anyway. The emergency rooms are forever on “diversion?” So? Apply your own sutures, you racist white boy. Having one-third of your paycheck confiscated annoys you while you wait on line behind the multitudes stockpiling chips, soda and cupcakes on their Access cards aplenty? Bigot! They are hungry, too.
Meanwhile, the societal architects sit on their decks and bemoan the fact that the humming birds are much less in numbers this year. Oh, and the country club raised the golfing fees again. And that drop-dead sexy trophy wife at the yacht club won’t join the key club. And the HD DVD player in the SUV crapped out and is no longer under warranty. And the garbage disposal is too frightfully loud. And one of the shrubs is dying. And a bear cub destroyed the new bird feeder. And the fish pond keeps clouding up. And…whoa! Tommy broke the remote.
These are the people telling me to buck the fu>k up? These are the people that see societal decay, but only on their imported televisions? These are the people that berate my city and my mayor, but wouldn’t know graffiti unless some obvious low-life in their well-heeled neighborhoods nailed a yard sale sign to a telephone pole? These are the people that pretend to know what’s best for my community, people who would likely soil themselves if a huge black guy positioned himself directly behind them while they were using a MAC machine?
Obviously, Corbett is excluded from this bunch to a large degree. He resides in Scranton, so he sees his fair share of reverse-gentrification. With that said, he claims to be a former drunken brawler, but chastises us if we feel the need to blacken an eye every now and again. He says he used to smoke way too much, but now advocates legislative restrictions on our use of cigarettes. He tells us he used to drink heavily while carrying a concealed weapon, but he doesn’t trust us with that very same right. He reminds us at every turn that while that he could kill us, he probably won’t ‘cause he’s all grown up now. He’s a typical elitist in that he can do whatever the hell he wants to, but not us. No, we’re too stupid and too ignorant and too completely ugly to be trusted with whatever he reserves for himself.
He knows better ‘cause he spent 5 years cavorting in a former state of the United States, California. We couldn’t possible match wits with him, because, after all, he befriended the people who pick and choose which laws they will obey. Green cards? Oh, c’mon. working under the table? Grow up, everybody does it. Gaming the safety net system at every turn? Work some more overtime, boy. These people are just seeking a better life. Do without, and don’t give me any jazz about your gross pay versus your net pay. You are white, and that ain’t right in my politically correct, namby pamby utopian place of a world. So assume your well-deserved guilt, and shut up already.
That’s the sort of myopic slop he’s dishing out.
Shut up and pay your taxes.
With all of that having been rambled through, I think we’ve had just about enough of these immigration rallies, pro or con. In my opinion, with emotions running so high, they are tinderboxes in search of a lit match. Think about it. If what I wanted to see was a full-blown riot, all I’d have to do is show up and start talking smack to the most emotional of the bunch. A zinger here. An under-the-breath comment there. An insult over there and Voila! Fisticuffs!
Or, in other words, what Kevin wants the most would become a violent reality. And then he can get on the WILK blower and admonish all of us silly, ignorant bigots all over again. Unintelligent coal crackers all following the lead of that jack-booted thug himself, Lou Barletta.
What these talk jocks all have in common is that they excuse illegalities if and when it suits their political agendas. And they do it very selectively, if not, in a very scattershot fashion. If the marauding hordes ignore laws, that’s somehow excusable. Oh, but if the indigenous folks ignore the laws, well, that’s a whole other story. And last I heard, this was nation built upon laws. And to selectively ignore the law is to tear away at the very fabric of the country. And as we watch that frayed fabric being shredded right before our very eyes, they call us bigots, racists and hayseeds for correctly objecting to it.
They keep referring to this country as being the “melting pot” that it always has been. But, as a trained chef, I’m here to tell you that when making a sauce, spices need to be added in moderation so as to not overpower the remainder of the ingredients. There’s a fragile balance there. And when the recipe includes one part this, one part that and ten parts chili powder, nobody is going to want to consume that which follows. What the faux cooks at WILK are offering is not edible. They can add a dash of this, or a dash of that in an attempt to mask their sophomoric grub, but they never should have been trusted with the key to the commissary in the first place.
In their denuded minds, we are guilty as charged for ‘complaining while white.’
We have no such right.